Born Hero

by S A Shaffer

  “It’s a beautiful view,” she said. “Better than the one at my apartment.”

  “It’s the one good thing about this place … other than the people in it.”

  Lightning flashed again, giving David a perfect snapshot of a distant skyscraper and some factories before the darkness returned.

  “Do … Do you think Mr. Blythe will be a good Speaker?” Mercy asked.

  David looked at her face as it glowed in the dim candlelight. “I know he’s been good for my mother and me. If he treats the rest of Alönia like he’s treating us, I think he’ll be great.” He put the candle on a table and draped the blanket around Mercy’s shoulders.

  She held it around her neck, burying her face up to her eyes in its folds. She looked at David, and he could tell that she was smiling by the crinkle of her eyes.

  “Thank you, David. Are you sure you won’t be needing it?”

  “Not as much as you.”

  She smiled again, then leaned forward, pulled the blanket down, and kissed him on the cheek before finally walking back toward the apartment door. It was a good thing the power was out so that Mercy couldn’t see David’s shocked expression. In fact David was so shocked that she was halfway to the door before he reacted. He spun around and walked after her … before tripping on his stool and falling on his face. Then again maybe it wasn’t a good thing the power was out.

  As David climbed back to his feet, he heard Mercy giggling.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Fine, I’m fine.”

  David grabbed the candle from the table and walked after Mercy. As they passed his mother’s room, Mercy stepped inside.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Ike,” she said as she bent and hugged his mother. “You should be very proud of your son. He’s a good man.”

  With that Mercy turned and ran out of the room, face flushed, not stopping until she got to the door. “Thanks again for the blanket, David,” she said in a rush as she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.

  David couldn’t help but grin. She’d kissed him. Sure, it was only on the cheek, but a kiss was a kiss.

  He turned and walked back into his mother’s room, setting the candle down on the little table next to her armchair. He picked the comb up and started combing her hair. Then he stopped and looked at his mom’s eyes. They were still twinkling, brighter than he’d seen in a long time.

  “What are you looking at?”

  A MEETING OF THE MINDS

  Mercy made it all the way to the stairwell before she broke down. She leaned back against the wall and covered her mouth, holding back the nausea. She had to be the most wretched person in all the Fertile Plains. Then the tears came. They flowed freely as she walked down the stairs and exited at the bottom of the apartment. She used the blanket to wipe them, but for some reason that only made it worse. She was abusing one of the kindest individuals she had ever met, not to mention someone who had already been through enough to break the strongest men. But David was not a strong man; he was exceptional—and Mercy would ruin him. What would happen when he found out about her treachery? What would he do? What would he become? He trusted her wholeheartedly. He loved her wholeheartedly, as innocently and ignorantly as a lamb, and she used that against him. Once again she asked herself, What am I becoming?

  When she exited the stairwell at the base of the apartment—since the steam lift was not functioning in the power outage—she stumbled forward in the pitch black. Her skin prickled as she walked toward a dark alley. She’d been scared to death when she walked toward the apartment with David only half an hour earlier, acting the ditz, yet all the while keeping track of the three vagrants shadowing them. Now she couldn’t care less, alone with her tears and her guilt, no comfort to cling to but the blanket she’d swindled from a friend, the only blanket he’d had to keep him company on the dismal couch he used as a bed. It was Swollock Season. What need had she of a blanket in the hot, muggy weather?

  And his mother? Poor thing had lost the use of her body, lost the love of her life, only to sit by helplessly as her son struggled through life as an invalid. Mercy wondered when she had gotten into the business of taking advantage of the poor, innocent, disabled, and helpless. It was almost enough to make her run away from her own vile employment … almost. The consequences of her failure were far, far worse. She had more to think about than her own discomfort. She had much more to lose than the respect of one young man.

  Mercy turned down a dark street. She couldn’t see more than three feet in front of her. Keeping one hand against the wall in case she tripped, she picked her way around street refuse. It smelled like urine and echoed with the scratchings of critters. She hadn’t really paid attention to where she was going as she meandered down alley after alley, turn after turn. In truth she didn’t care.

  “You’re awfully pretty to be wandering through some dirty streets with naught but a sundress and a tattered blanket for protection.”

  Mercy froze. She didn’t scream. She knew better than that, but her skin crawled when she heard the voice. It was the sound of a killer—a man accustomed to death … a man who knew his trade well.

  “Well, I thought dark alleys were where you went when you wanted to find an assassin.”

  She couldn’t see anything, but she turned and faced the spot where she heard the voice all the same. He was a shadow within a shadow, but she knew he could see her, so she waited. Slowly the shadow moved, extricating itself from the corner where it stood, walking forward until it was only a few feet from Mercy.

  “I trust you had an eventful night?” Francisco asked, mechanical eye swiveling to the right and peering through the darkness as easily as a voxil.

  “If by eventful you mean I lied, seduced, and cajoled a poor, lovesick boy into spilling secrets, then yes. It was extremely eventful.”

  Francisco snorted as he raised a hand and pointed it down the alley. A bolt of electricity shot out, illuminating the alley for a brief second—and the two vagrants who had been trailing Mercy. One of them yelped and then there was the sound of scuffling as several pairs of feet retreated out of the alley.

  “Is it hurting your feelings? Does it make you sad that the poor boy is in love with you and you don’t even care?” Francisco asked in a mocking tone.

  “Don’t, Francisco, just don’t.” Mercy pulled the blanket tighter around her neck and glared at the assassin.

  He sniffed. “Touchy, aren’t we. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the boy’s lovesick heart was warming your own? But then again you’re a hardened aide, here to sabotage a campaign from the inside out, the most brilliant political strategist of our time. Or do I have the wrong girl?”

  Mercy clenched her jaw and looked at the ground. She wanted to scratch his eyes out. “I’m not as hardened to the underworld as you,” she said. “I still respect character, purity, and goodness. David is every one of those and more. He hasn’t warmed my heart; he’s pricked my conscience. He’s not the enemy I expected to fight—just more collateral damage.”

  Francisco said nothing to this, not even offering a grunt.

  “Anyway, take me to him,” Mercy said after she wiped the last of the tears away with the blanket. “We have much to discuss.”

  Francisco took her arm and guided her down the alley until they turned into an even darker lane that ended in a brick wall behind a construction facility. Francisco pulled a lever and the wall folded away.

  “He’s in the Third?” Mercy asked.

  Francisco grunted as he steered her into the opening and down a set of stairs. The air tasted of chalk. They walked past a few hundred feet of scaffolding, electric trollies, and steel beams. Rocks chattered as their feet kicked them across a metal floor. Francisco tugged Mercy to a halt and lifted a tarp, revealing a wooden door so new it hadn’t even been sealed yet.

  He opened it, and she stepped through the threshold. The room she stepped into was similar to their last meeting place. They always were: one central l
ight above one central table, an assortment of seats, a substantial amount of dust, and a man waiting in the shadows. This time, however, the man was not sitting relaxed with his feet up, as he usually did. He paced back and forth, each turn twirling his knee-length coat. He repeatedly clasped and unclasped his hands.

  Mercy sat on a stool at the edge of the light’s halo, crossing her legs and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. While she had never actually seen his face, she could tell the man was furious. In previous meetings he had always been casual, yet stern. But now he looked like a caged animal waiting to pounce on the first unfortunate thing to cross its path.

  Finally he stopped, his back to Mercy. “That boy is becoming an annoyance. This is the third time he interfered with my plans, and each time he displays some unusual brilliance that thwarts hours of preparation by the smartest minds in two countries with a simple wave of his hand. How?” He turned and slammed his fists down on the table, top hat still shadowing his face.

  Mercy jumped and wondered, not for the first time, how well she really knew this man.

  But then the man let out a deep breath and continued in a more controlled manner, “Why didn’t you tell me he was an expert pilot?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t know. I had no idea until tonight. He never told me his past. Everything I knew I told you.”

  “Well, enlighten me, then. How did a boy with absolutely no previous record take command of an airship for the first time and outfly two captains with decades of experience?” The man resumed his pacing, but more controlled now.

  Mercy didn’t bother pulling out her little booklet from its hidden pocket, even though it contained all her notes. She doubted she would be able to forget recent events, even if she wanted to. “His father had him flying airships since he was eight cycles old, and he taught him everything he knew until he was fourteen. His father was a captain or admiral or something in the armada.”

  “Which is it—a captain or an admiral? There are so many blasted Captain Ikes, but only a few admirals.”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t say. … Captain, I think.”

  “Pity. What else?”

  “Well, supposedly he was one of the best captains of his time, and he learned everything from his father.”

  “Whose father? The grandfather?”

  “Yes, David learned from his father, who learned from the grandfather.”

  “What was the grandfather’s name?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Well, what did he say?”

  “Piloting has been in the family for three generations. Even though David hasn’t flown since the airship accident when he lost his father, it’s still second nature to him.”

  “His father died in an airship accident? When?”

  “Four cycles ago.”

  “Four cycles ago?” The man stopped pacing and peered out of the shadows at Mercy.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You’re telling me that four cycles ago a man named Captain Ike died in an airship accident?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and the grandfather died soon after. David and his mother—”

  “Mercy,” the man interrupted, holding his fingers to his temples. “This is very important. Captain Ike, David’s father, died four cycles ago, and then his father, David’s grandfather, died three weeks later?”

  Mercy looked at the man. He had never called her by name before. “I don’t know if it was three weeks later, but, yes, that’s what he said.”

  She paused, waiting to see how the man reacted to this. He straightened and paced a few more times, rubbing a shadowed jaw. Mercy could hear a few days’ growth of facial hair prickle against a calloused hand.

  After a few moments she continued, “The crash that killed his father maimed David and his mother.”

  The man stopped and turned toward Mercy again. “Mother? He has a mother?”

  “Yes.” The topic made Mercy’s nauseous feelings return. “I met her tonight. She’s completely paralyzed. It looks like David feeds her with a tube and has a nurse take care of all her other needs. How he managed to survive on his own as a fourteen-cycle-old cripple and care for his paralyzed mother …” Mercy shook her head as her eyes misted over.

  “What did she look like?”

  “I couldn’t look at her. Every time I did, I felt guilty enough to vomit.”

  Mercy heard Francisco grunt a little laugh at that.

  But the man just said, “Think, Mercy.” He gripped the edge of the table, catching her off guard. “What color was her hair?”

  He seemed so intense. Mercy could see a prominent nose and frantic eyes through the shadows.

  “It was very gray, but there were still traces of brown.”

  The man nodded and retreated back to his shadows, finally sitting in the chair at the back of the dusty room.

  “That’s how Blythe won his loyalty,” Mercy went on. “He negotiated to have David’s rent reduced and set up a nonprofit on Mrs. Ike’s behalf. After seeing David’s apartment, I think it’s probably the first financial assistance anyone has given him in four cycles. By caring for his mother, Blythe gained an ally in David for life.”

  The man nodded again.

  “There’s more, though,” Mercy said. “He knows about you.”

  She expected this to spark another reaction, but the man just kept nodding. Had he heard her?

  “He knows you exist, and he has already attributed the Prowler attack to you.”

  “That figures. It wouldn’t take anyone very long after that fool Arold jumped ship.”

  “He also attributes Samantha’s work to you. He thinks she was a pawn.”

  Now she heard Francisco shuffle his feet behind her.

  “Anything else?” the man asked from the shadows.

  “He saw you.”

  “You mean he thinks he saw me?”

  “No, you were at the grand speech, weren’t you—in the gallery? I know because your message ordering me to switch districts arrived only moments after the speech. David looked in the gallery and saw a tall man wearing a long coat and a top hat, standing in the shadows. He’s convinced it was you. Don’t ask me how, but he’s convinced.”

  “Hmm. Clever lad. I knew I shouldn’t have looked at him, but I wanted to see who it was that had foiled my ten-cycle plan. That’s when I saw him looking around while everyone else applauded, then he scribbled something down on a notepad.” The man let out a long, slow breath. “So you’re telling me there is no chance that we could bribe David away from Blythe.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Could you seduce him away?”

  Mercy thought about that for a moment before finally shaking her head. “Most of the reason he likes me is because he thinks I’m sincere. As soon as I ask him to betray his conscience, my spell over him will break.”

  A pause, then the man asked, “What if we help his mother?”

  “He would appreciate it, but once we start asking him to betray Blythe as payment, he’ll see through the ruse. David will never willingly betray Blythe, no matter what we do for him.”

  “Yes … yes, he is his father’s son.”

  “Sir, you knew his father?”

  “I knew of him. He was a legend in his day. Patrolled the Maw for a tour and singlehandedly removed the Outlander overlord. They say he was as brilliant as his old man, though he never got the chance to prove it. You should feel proud, Mercy. The last living heir of the Ike legend is in love with you. I’m sure of it now. Only an Ike could fly like—”

  “What?” Mercy said, gaping at the man.

  “David Ike III, the son of David Ike II, the son of Admiral David Ike, hero of the Protectorate War, finds you to be quite the dish. You do know who Admiral David—”

  “Yes, I know who the legend is. You’re telling me that he was David’s grandfather?”

  The man nodded. “His father was as loyal as they came, as was his grandfather, the legend himself. Did you know that the Alöni
an houses offered him an estate in the farmlands as a reward for his services when the old goat finally retired? He turned it down. Lived in moderation to his dying breath, as did the son. I heard about the accident that killed David’s father, but the family didn’t live in the public eye, so it passed through the news without much notice. While they lived, the Ikes avoided all news agents, keeping to themselves. After the incident it seems David and his mother disappeared from society altogether. Few enough people knew about them anyway.” He rubbed his jaw again.

  “Sir, David is not our enemy. He’s only being used by Blythe.”

  “Perhaps that would have been true before his father died. But now? David is more dangerous than I ever could have imagined. His name has more esteem than Blythe’s could ever have. Whether he is being used or not does not diminish his potency. The question is: Why hasn’t Blythe revealed that heritage yet? What is he saving it for?”

  Mercy snorted. “He doesn’t know!” It was more of a comment to herself, but she spoke it aloud.

  “What? Why would David keep his name a secret? A heritage like that would have helped him out of the sludge. How else do you think he got where he is?”

  Mercy shook her head. “From my observation Blythe thinks of David as any other David Ike named after the legend. Besides, you don’t know him, sir. You don’t know his work ethic. I have no doubt that he worked for every bit of his aideship. I don’t know why he’s keeping his heritage quiet, but if he was in the habit of using it to get places, don’t you think he would have told me? How better to impress a girl? I asked him directly about his family, and he still concealed it.”

  The man shook his head. “An Ike through and through. If that’s true, then we dare not reveal it ourselves. Who knows what kind of publicity Blythe would get if he announced that the grandson of the famous Admiral Ike worked for him?” The man resumed his pacing in the shadows. “Time is limited, Mercy. If we are to pull this off, we can’t afford any loose ends. That is exactly what David is: a very famous, intelligent, capable loose end.”